Caution: Children At Play
by Shadows' Nightmare
Summary: A series of one-shots on how I think various Hellsing characters would behave if they met each other as children. To quote Girlycard from Hellsing: "When you get down to the nitty gritty... this kind of thing's a kid fight. So look, we're kids!" (On Hiatus)
1. Language Barrier

Author's Notes: This is just a way to clear out the attic of pestering plot bunnies. Please enjoy. :3

Disclaimer: I do not own Hellsing, London or France. (Bah!)

* * *

I remember when I first met Pip Bernadette.

I was settling in with my foster parents in a small summer home in France, when I decided to sneak out and find kids my own age. It wasn't because I wanted to make friends and play, far from it; I wanted to find out who was the top dog around here so I could challenge him to a fight and stake my claim in this territory. I already knew ahead of time that they wouldn't be pleased with a foreigner in their midst; years of being passed from orphanage to orphanage taught me that.

'And what better way to earn immediate acceptance,' I thought, 'if not tolerance, than with respect? And what better way to earn respect than with my fists?'

I found a kid sitting alone in an otherwise empty play-ground, obviously a boy. He was crying. My first impression was: 'What a wuss.'

He must have heard me approaching, because he suddenly gasped and whirled around to look at me.

My second impression was 'What a handsome boy.' His hair was red as copper, his eyes green as emerald, and his skin pale as alabaster. He was very tall, my head barely made it to his shoulders when I stood on tip-toe, and he was very well-built for one his age. He must have been _at least_ twelve, and I only eight. He was a very handsome boy.

I blushed at the unexpected thought. 'Get a grip on yourself Seras,' I thought savagely, 'It's only a _boy_.'

I scowled openly, so he couldn't guess what I was thinking, and said, "What's the matter with you? You're a boy, ain't ya? Boys aren't supposed to cry."

He stared at me for a moment, wide eyed and wide mouthed, when he suddenly said "Oh!" and started wiping the tears from his eyes with the backs of his hands.

My heart fluttered at the endearing action, like seeing a puppy suddenly remember its bone was missing, but my scowl outwardly deepened. 'What a wuss,' I thought again.

When he finished he looked at me again, smiling sheepishly, blushing slightly. But I didn't care about all that; I had bigger fish to fry. "Where are all the kids?" I demanded.

He stared at me a moment, his eyebrows knitted together.

"Are you stupid?" I said loudly and clearly: "_Where are the other kids_? Can't you hear me? Or are you just retarded somehow?"

His eyebrows all but joined into a unibrow, he scowled, and shook his head slowly. "Je ne vous comprends pas."

'Oh great,' I thought. 'He doesn't speak English.'

In retrospect this was incredibly unfair since I _was_ in France, and kids in France generally speak French and not English. But as a child that was new to existence, I felt that the world should be what I pre-conceived it to be in my own mind; and in my mind French children spoke English.

I wasn't about to give an inch. "Parlez-vous anglais ?"

He scowled slightly. He had just told me that. "Non."

I shook my head furiously, and put a hand on my chest. "English!"

He shook his head furiously in reply, and said "Et alors? Je suis _Français_."

"_English_," I repeated forcefully, emphasizing the word so he knew I meant business.

He shook his head, and put a hand on his own well-toned chest. "_Français_.."

I pretended like I didn't understand though. "Where are the kids?" I repeated.

He looked truly frustrated now, and shook his head stubbornly. "Je ne vous comprends pas!"

"Kids," I repeated, and walked up to him so my forehead was inches from his chin. "_Kids_," I repeated more forcefully, emphasizing the word.

"Keeds?" He said, backing away slightly.

"Kids," I said again, frustrated, and tried to help him out by pointing between him and me. "_Kids_."

He seemed to understand finally, and pointed to me. "Keeds?"

I nodded emphatically. "Kids," I said again, smiling.

His face relaxed into a big smile that melted my heart, and he held out his hand. "Keeds. Enchanté."

'What the--?!' I thought angrily, 'This dumb sap thinks that's who I am!'

"My name's not 'Kids' you idiot!" I yelled, causing him to start and jerk away from me fearfully. "My name is Seras Victoria and I'm looking for the kids. Do you understand that? Mon nom est Seras Victoria!"

Suddenly he understood, and he looked at me with a kind of astonished wonder. Though he was still a little fearful ('good,' I thought) he seemed more confident about approaching me. He took a step forward, pointed to me, and said hesitantly. "Seras… Victoire?"

I nodded, put a hand on my own chest and said "Seras Victoria" for good measure.

He had a heck of a time repeating it. "Seras… Victoire?"

I shook my head emphatically, scowling. "Seras _Victoria_."

"_Victoire_?"

"Victori-_a_!"

"Victoir-_e_?"

"Victori-_a_!"

"Victoir-_e_?"

"Forget it!" I yelled, holding up a hand in front of his face to silence him. I then put my hand back on my own chest and said again "Seras Victoria!" and pointed to him with a quizzical brow.

He stared for a moment ('why is he always staring?' I thought angrily) when he finally understood what I was asking. He blinked disbelievingly, like he couldn't believe that anyone would ask him something about himself, and said meekly, "Pip Bernadette."

'What a stupid name,' I thought; though I liked the way it sounded. "Pip… Vernadead?"

His blush deepened ('what is _with_ this guy?!' I thought), but he shook his head politely. "Pip _Bernadette_."

"Vernadead?"

"_Bernadette_."

"_Vernadead_?"

"_Ber_nadette."

"_Ver_nadead?"

"Ber-na-dette."

"Ver-na-dead."

He shook his head pityingly, yet smiled bemusedly. He looked like he thought my struggling to pronounce his name was cute, while I had thought his struggling to understand mine was irritating. I was surprised and ashamed that he was still so nice and genial when I had been so mean and rotten to him. This embarrassed me, which only made me more irritable, and I scowled, blushed, and looked away.

When I looked back at him he was still smiling that insufferable, genial smile, which made me all the more flustered.

To hide it I stepped up to him and held out my hand forcefully. "Pip Vernadead," I all but yelled.

At first he started back, then seeing I wouldn't do any harm he blinked, and shook his head. "Non. Seras Victoire."

I scoffed, and rolled my eyes. 'The French really don't have any manners,' and grabbed his hand. I shook it as hard as I could, because I wanted to hurt him, to get even with him for being so nice and making me regret being rude to him, but it didn't seem to faze him a bit. He had very hard, calloused hands for one his age. He was a very strong, handsome boy for one his age. I was very embarrassed by the sudden thought.

By the end we were both blushing, and neither of us could make eye contact with the other. He was such a handsome boy, and there was something about touching his skin directly that affected me profoundly, that made my heart feel like it was blossoming like a rose within my chest. It embarrassed, and even frightened me, so I couldn't bring myself to look at him. 'I don't know what his excuse is,' I thought bitterly.

An awkward silence fell over us both, until I remembered what started this dead-end conversation in the first place. Finally I got up the nerve to say again, "I'm looking for the kids," but I was in no mood for fighting anymore.

Pip didn't understand me any more this time than the first dozen times, though, and shrugged his shoulders.

'At least he's not a shaking git,' I thought, but that didn't help matters.

I wanted to give him a break, but I forgot what the French word for 'kids' was.

I tried one last time. "Kids," I said, but he still didn't understand.

I decided to try a different dialect. "Kinder," I said in German, and that struck a chord in him.

He looked as if a light bulb went on in his head. He looked at me, amazed, "Kinder," he said, as if he understood.

I nodded emphatically. "Kinder."

He smiled broadly. "Ja!"

"Oui!"

"Si!"

"Merci!"

"Welcome!"

We laughed together over our Babel. We didn't know enough of each other's language to communicate effectively, but throwing in a few others made things easier, if not happier. I couldn't remember laughing as happily as I did that moment.

Suddenly an old man's voice yelled from the distance, "Pip!" and yelled something in angry rapid French that I couldn't understand.

Suddenly I noticed that it was twilight, and all the street lights were starting to come on. How did I miss it?

"Mon papi," he said apologetically. His earlier smile was gone, and he looked very sad now. ('Pitiful,' I thought). He tried to explain what was happening in French, throwing in a few German words so I'd understand.

I wasn't stupid. I knew what was going on. It was getting dark and his dad was calling him in.*

I felt a pang of jealousy toward this boy for having his parents when I didn't. He would get to go home to his family while I had to go to my ruddy foster parents. I didn't want to go home, I wanted to stay and keep bullying this boy; and now knowing that he had his family made me want to beat his brains in and run away.

This was of course very unfair of me since most kids generally have their families, and for me to expect differently from him was very unrealistic. I wasn't aware of it at the time, though I suppose in retrospect I had detected the lost look in his eyes, and thought that made him my kindred spirit, and that includes family matters. I was profoundly disappointed, and that made me angry (I was very angry in those days).

He tried to say something earnestly to me in French, when I suddenly snapped, "Will you just shut up?! God, you're so annoying! I'm tired of talking to you, just go home to your precious family and leave me alone!"

I could feel, rather than see, the hurt look on his face as I ran away from him, and could feel his sad eyes pouring onto my back as I bolted from sight. 'Well… good!' I thought savagely, 'Now he knows how it feels to be alone!' yet I could feel the same melancholy in my heart.

It would be years before that little miscommunication would be cleared up, but for the mean time I thought I would never see him again, and did not realize that he had been asking, before I yelled at him, if he would ever see me again.

I reached the front of my foster parents' vacation house by dark, panting and sweaty. I didn't want to go inside, but I knew the sooner I did the better. If I waited too long then they would _really_ notice that I'd been gone, and I didn't want that. I wanted to go as unnoticed as possible, if that was possible.

Only one thought passed though my mind as I reached for the door handle. 'I hope Lena's home.'

* * *

*Either my French-English dictionary is lying or "Papi" means "Grandpa" or "Granddad."


	2. Time Travel Part 1

Author's Notes: I like Walter and Seras, but somehow, I don't think they'd get along if they met as children.

Also, due to technical difficulties, this is now a two-shot rather than a one-shot. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Hellsing._

* * *

The first time Walter ever met Seras, he thought that she was a brat and couldn't stand her. He walked into one of the many spare rooms in the Hellsing mansion and went to change the sheets, since his master was an inconsiderate playboy and a slob, when he noticed that the wardrobe on the opposite wall was rattling. Immediately his muscles tensed, his eyes narrowed, he pulled out his wires and clenched them between his teeth as he approached said wardrobe; it continued to rattle heavily even when he touched it. But when he opened it, a little girl with messy blonde hair sprung out in such a whirwind of kicks and fists that even he was had to jump back.

She landed with an unceremonious FLOP! and Walter sweat-dropped. Clearly, not a vampire.

"It's about time you let me out!" she cried, springing up, "I was in that thing all night!"

"Who are you and how did you get into my master's home?" Walter demanded.

"Idiot, this is my house!" the girl snapped, "If anything, _you_ should tell _me_ why you're here!"

"Fat chance," Walter smirked, "Do you know what we do to intruders here at the Hellsing Organization?"

"Pfft! You can't do anything to me," the girl spat, "Since this is _my_ house, my daddy's a police officer and he'll throw you in jail!"

"I'd like to see your daddy try," Walter said, "Since this isn't _your_ house, and I don't go easy on intruders."

"TOUCH ME AND I'LL BITE YOUR NOSE OFF!"

By the time Sir Hellsing and his friend Sir Irons came in from the drawing room to see what all the commotion was about, they found the rather peculiar sight of the infamous "Angel of Death" Walter C. Dornez caught up in the middle of an average chilsren's fight with a blond youth, who was trying to punch and wrestle him to the ground to no avail.

"Um. . . Dare I ask what's going on?" Sir Irons ventured.

"Walter, happy as I am that you're finally learning how to be a man," Sir Hellsing said, "I'd rather prefered it would be with a girl and not this. . . whelp."

"You idiot! It's not like that," Walter spat, and grabbed her by the hair, "This bratty half-pint _bitch_ broke into our mansion and claims its her house."

"Wait," Sir Hellsing said, blinking, "you're saying this is a _girl_?"

"OW!" the girl screamed, and elbowed Walter in the face, "_Of course_ I am!"

"Oh!" Sir Hellsing exclaimed, relieved, "Well in that case, I'll leave you to it then . ." but at that moment Walter pulled out his wires, and Sir Hellsing and Sir Irons had to pull the two children apart to keep Walter from killing the girl. They were determined to fight each other, however, and kept trying to charge the other one anyway.

"You two do realize that _I'm_ the one in charge of this mansion," Sir Hellsing said, "And that you're fighting in _my_ home?"

"Are you people stupid?" the girl screamed, struggling against Sir Irons' hold. "Why do you keep calling this a 'mansion' when it's clearly. . ."

For the first time she took a good look around the room and found that it was, indeed, richly decorated and not at all familiar.

"AAAAAAAAAAH! THIS ISN'T MY HOUSE!" the girl screamed. "WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE AND WHY DID YOU KIDNAP ME?"

Sir Hellsing and Sir Irons sighed heavily, but Walter hissed, "Can I kill her now?"

Fast forward to a few hours later and the four were drinking tea in the drawing room. The girl was sitting alone on the sofa with such a dirty, sullen look that neither Sir Hellsing nor Sir Irons, each of whom sat across from her, dared to speak, and so all they heard was the grandfather clock ticking. Walter stood leaning against the sofa with his arms crossed, Sir Irons was nervously sipping his tea, and Sir Hellsing was shamelessly making a pass at the maid who came to clear the used cups away, which earned him a violent rebuke from Walter.

Seras was mentally recording each of her kidnapper's appearances so she could describe them to her father later.

The ring leader looked absolutely repulsive; Seras hated him on first sight and just wanted to slap that arrogant grin off his smug face. His companion was much more to her liking. Though he was rather stern and serious, he held himself with a quiet confidence that Seras found very appealing (it also helped that he was very handsome.) The lad, Walter, stood somewhere in the middle of the spectrum; though he was unbelievably handsome and well-dressed (even more so than Sir Irons), he, too, was visibly rude and arrogant like his master, and so Seras _could not_ like him.

"Would you like more tea, young lady?" Sir Irons offered politely.

"No, thank you," Seras said, blushing. His good manners rubbed off on her.

Once again they dove back into the same conversation that had gotten them nowhere for a few hours.

"Let's start with your name: what is it?"

"It's Seras," the girl said, "Seras Victoria."

"Where do you live?"

She told him her exact address down to the letter.

"And your phone number is. . . ?"

Seras told him the exact number from memory.

"And your father is a policeman, correct?"

"Correct."

"What station does he work for?"

"The Cheddar Village Police Force," Seras said, "And I'm sure they're all looking for me right now, so don't get any ideas."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said with all seriousness. "Now, theoretically, if we were to call either of these phone numbers, your home or your father's work, there would be someone on the other end with the surname of 'Victoria,' correct?"

"Correct."

"The only problem with that," Sir Hellsing piped up suddenly, emptying the contents of a brandy bottle into his tea, "is that we've tried both numbers, and neither of them were successful. The phone number, the very address you have given, does not exist; and we have tried the Cheddar Police Force, and even allowed you to talk with the chief of police yourself, and there is no one by the name of 'Victoria' in service."

"That doesn't prove anything!" Seras snapped, "You could have called someone different and told them to tell me that."

"You think really highly of yourself, don't you?" Walter said nastily as he lit a cigarette, "_Of course_ the reason there is no middle-aged man with the very masculine name of 'Victoria' on the police force is because we called the wrong number; _Of course _it cannot be because he simply isn't there; _of course_ it cannot be because he simply does not exist. Nope, it cannot be that. Nope, it _must_ be some big conspiracy from us, the evil hostages who went to all the trouble to steal some run-down old wardrobe from some run-down old village with you inside, and refuse to send you home, and we refuse to send you home because we're _just that evil _. . ."

"Quit talking like that," the girl snapped, "I know what I'm talking about!"

"Staying on topic," Sir Hellsing said firmly, "You did talk to the police chief, and the operator, on the phone, and found that the only person whose name came close to your own were was one 'Jason Victory.'"

"But it _can't_ be him," Seras said, "Jason Victory was my _grandfather_."

"Indeed. . ." Sir Irons had a bad feeling about where this conversation was going.

"At any rate, it _was_ him," Sir Hellsing said, "However, he claims to be unmarried, childless, and at the very young age of twenty-six."

"Well, then it must be a different person then," Seras said, "Because my grandfather was _very old_, and died when I was a very little girl."

"You _are_ a very little girl," Walter snapped.

"So are you," Seras retorted.

"What?" Walter sprang up, but Sir Hellsing pushed him down.

"And what year was that, pray tell?"

"1984."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure, that was the year my dad thought Big Brother might take over the world."

"'Big Brother?'" Walter scoffed, "Yeah, that's a name to run from real fast."

"Hey! it was a scary book!" Seras snapped.

"All right, let's stay on topic," Sir Irons said, "Are you positive that was the year your grandfather died?"

"Sure, I'm sure!"

"And, per chance, how old were you when that happened?"

"I think I was about four," Seras said slowly, "Yeah I was four."

"If that is so, then what year were you born?"

"1980!" Seras said.

"Uh huh. And what is today's date?"

"June 1st, 1988-no, wait, June 2nd, 1988."

"I see. . ."

There was a long, awkward pause from the gentlemen in the room. Sir Irons did _not_ like where this conversation was going.

"Come on Sir Irons!" Walter cried, "You can't tell me you actually believe this pack of bullocks?"

"And _you_ can't expect _me _to believe this is 1944?" Seras snapped, "Or that we're in the middle of the Second World War?"

"We do expect you to believe it," Walter said, "Because it's the truth. We have proof, we have dates, we have newpaper clippings, and you're some loony who escaped the bin."

"I'm not a loony!" Seras snapped, "I know what today's date is! If you're trying to get out of trouble for by claiming it's in a different time, my dad isn't going to believe you. . ."

"Wow, and here I thought you couldn't get any crazier," Walter said, "We give you proof with radio broadcasts and newspaper clippings, and you still insist _we're_ lying? Either you're the worst liar in the world, or you're not only crazy, but stupid too. No amount of shock treatment is going to cure what _you_ have. . ."

Seras tried to punch Walter in the face, but he easily caught her fist with his hand, and it took several minutes for Sir Hellsing and Sir Irons to pull the angry children apart, but eventually they settled down and sat on two different couches with their respective adults.

"Let's stay on topic, shall we?" Sir Irons said again, straightening his glasses.

"I just want to go home!" Seras said, with tears in her eyes.

"And we want nothing more than to send you home," Walter snapped, "You two-bit cross-dresser!"

"What my good friend's butler is _trying_ to say," Sir Irons said, "Is that we are doing everything in our power to get to the bottom of this and send you home, but this. . . _time frame_ you have given us is making that ecceedingly difficult, and you really must be patient with us."

At the words "time frame," Sir Hellsing, who had been uncharacteristically quiet up until now, suddenly shot up.

"Of course!" he exclaimed, and snapped his fingers, "You said you crawled into the wardrobe the night before?"

"Yes," Seras sniffed, "I was playing hide-and-seek."

"And then you ended up here?"

"Well yes," Seras said, "That's what you get for stealing someone's wardrobe without looking to see what's inside."

"My dear, the problem with that accusation is that we didn't steal it (though we would be much obliged to give it back to you if we had)," Sir Hellsing said. "That old thing has been in the spare room since God knows when, and we've had that old thing forever. No one knows _how_ it got there, it just _did_. (Rather plain and ordinary, I'd give it up in a hare's breath), but look here; you said so yourself that you were in that thing all night, but nobody heard your cries, answered your calls, or let you out until Walter here unlocked it this morning?"

"Yes," Seras said sullenly, "So?"

"Does the wardrobe in your house resemble the one here?"

"Yes, it's the exact same one."

"And how can you be sure?"

"Because it's filled with my parents' stuff." So saying, they all travelled to the offending wardrobe, and Seras opened the doors to reveal the many smart coats inside, and pointed them all out. "See? Those shoes belong to my dad, that pink one belongs to my mum, that one is his, that one is hers; I don't know whose _that_ is; but that one belongs to me mum!"

"All right, now I _know _you're making this up," Walter said.

"I am not!" the girl snapped.

"Perhaps it really is the same one," Sir Hellsing said.

"Are you serious?" Walter said, exasperately.

"I don't like where you're going with this, Arthur," Sir Irons said sternly.

"Of course, the only logical explanation is that it is the very same wardrobe," Sir Hellsing said. "She entered this very wardrobe, and exited the same wardrobe, at two different times. Only instead of exiting the same wardrobe the night after she entered it, she exited the same wardrobe the night after many years _before_ she entered it. Forty-four years, to be exact."

"Forty-four years?" Walter said, and you could swear you saw dancing skulls around him. "Isn't that . . . a bit of an odd number?"

"Not at all, it is quite an even number: you see, forty-four devided by two equals. . ."

"I know what even means!" Walter snapped, "I mean, of all numbers, wouldn't it go with a better one; say, 50?"

"What are neurologically pleasing numbers," Sir Hellsing said, "To a hunk of wood? I imagine they don't give a fig for all that sort of thing. If you really must go by neurologically pleasing numbers, I imagine it is exactly forty-four years, forty-four weeks, forty-four days, forty-four hours, forty-four minutes and forty-four seconds to the pico that thing travels (though I really can't be sure, I have to check my calculations). But you see, just as that lad in that book I found in this very wardrobe some years before was able to send a radio signal to the exact same radio some years before to rescue his father from burning in that tragic fire (a very good read, I might add), so does this wardrobe open to one time and send the contents of its trunk into yet another time; back and forth, I imagine, since you've owned this old wardrobe and kept your belongings in it for many years, and your parents have not lost any of their coats yet, or received different belongings from a different time period, save ours?"

"Um. . . no. . . ?" Seras said very slowly; though she, like Sir Irons and Walter, was just trying to keep up with what Sir Hellsing was saying.

"Then the solution is quite simple, really," Sir Hellsing said, "We just need to place you back in the wardrobe, close the door, and when you open it you'll be home again."

"Really?" Seras cried, her eyes wide with hope. "You mean I get to go home?"

"Now wait just a minute, Arthur!" Sir Irons cried, "You cannot seriously suggest that the girl just waltz back in the wardrobe and be back in her own time?"

"That's just what I've been saying for the past several minutes," Sir Hellsing said, "Now go on little girl, try it out."

"Wait a moment, don't be so hasty!" Sir Irons said, "You have no proof that there is time travel involved at all; and yet you blindly accept that this is the method to do it?"

"If the girl is telling the truth, then there is no other method that I think can be involved," Sir Hellsing said confidently. "And if she isn't (which may very well be the case) then she'll step inside, nothing will happen, and we'll decide what to do from there. But she seems very sure of herself, and so I'm inclined to believe her. Either way, we'll have an explanation to our inquiries."

"But to do it so rashly!" Sir Irons exclaimed, "If she really is from another time (and that is a very considerable _if_) then this is the scientific anomoly of the century, and we must tread cautiously. How do you know it is fit for human travel; or rather, fit for human travel more than once? How do you know there may not be some unfortunate side-effects? How do you know she may end up in the wrong time (perhaps backwards instead of forwards)? How can you be sure that she won't step in get lost in zero space forever?"

"I cannot be sure," Sir Hellsing said carelessly, "Which is precisely why I'm sending Walter with her."

"What?" Walter's eye twitched.

"That's hardly a reliable solution!" Sir Irons protested.

"Not at all! The girl could run into some trouble on the way," Sir Hellsing said, "And I'll need Walter to see to it that she gets home safely."

"Fuck no," Walter snapped, "There's no way I'm crawling into a wardrobe with some ugly _girl_. . ."

"That goes double for me!" Seras spat.

"I'm not a girl, you idiot," Walter snapped.

"Well, you sure look it!" Seras snapped.

"It could built character," Sir Hellsing said, with a lecherous smirk, "You could climb out a man."

"Are you deaf? The answer is no!" Walter snapped.

"That's too bad," Sir Hellsing said, the sly one, "since you _could_ be the first lad to experience time travel that we know of. Your name _could_ wind up in the papers, or even future generations' history books. Or, you could just be there for one instant and come out unscratched. But no, since you dislike the girl too much, you may never. . ."

Walter's eyes widened, then he smirked. "All right, I'll do it."

"Now hold on just one moment!" Sir Irons exclaimed, "There is still the danger of whether this will be successful or not! Honestly Arthur, the way you carelessly fling the lives of your servants just astounds me. . ."

"Well little girl, it's time for you to go home," Arthur said, and lifted her into the wardrobe, "Please send your parents my regard; and Walter, report what you find when you come back."

Before Seras or Sir Irons could object, Walter jumped into the wardrobe, shut the door, and when he opened it he and Seras were standing in a different room.


	3. Time Travel Part 2

Author's Notes: I was going to make this only two halves, but decided against it for reasons you will see soon. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own _Hellsing _or a time-travelling wardrobe (Lord do I wish I did, though)_._

* * *

"I'm home!" the girl cried with delight.

Her drawing room wasn't as richly decorated as the Hellsing mansion, Walter thought, but it was okay for the likes of her. It was rather clean and well-furnished, at least; not too different from the furnishing style he was used to, though a little plainer and smaller. It was a nice little room with a sunny feel to it, with nice sunny windows covered in nice clean curtains, nice carpets, nice furniture, and nice family photos hanging on every wall, shelf and fireplace mantle; no doubt the influence of the _nice_, _sunny_ people who lived there.

Eventually they peeped into the kitchen, which had a bit of a mournful feel, where they found a woman with long blonde hair sitting at the table with her head in her hands, crying.

"Mum!" the girl exclaimed.

The woman's head snapped up, and she looked at Seras as though she scarcely dared to believe she was there.

"Seras?" she whispered.

"Mum!" Seras ran toward her.

"Seras!" the woman cried, and scrambled out of her chair.

They ran into each other's arms; the girl threw her arms around the woman's neck, while the woman scooped her daughter up and fell to her knees, crying. She ran her hands all over her her hair, back and shoulders as though to make sure she was really there, sobbed and kissed her again and again.

"Where have you been?" her mother sobbed, "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

"I was locked in the wardrobe all night," Seras answered, "I tried calling for help, but _you_ didn't hear me."

"That's strange, I must have over-looked it in my panic." She kissed her daughter's cheek, then held her more tightly, sighing in relief, "Oh Seras, I was so afraid I'd lost you."

"I'm right here, Mum."

Walter stayed where he was, and watched this sickeningly-sweet reunion with an unreadable expression, his usual snarky attitude now uncharacteristically silent. His eyes were half-closed and his lips were pursed; he looked almost bored. After a few minutes he half-shrugged, turned away and walked back toward the wardrobe.

"Seras," her mom said, "who is that?"

Walter froze. Damn, that woman's eyes were too sharp.

"Who, _that_?" Seras said, breaking the moment, "That's _Walter._"

Seras spat the name like it was poison.

"I see," her mother said complacently, "Is he a friend of yours?"

"No," Seras snapped, "I just met him _before_ I got locked in the wardrobe."

Well, that was partly true.

"I see," the woman mopped her face as best as she could and approached Walter sheepishly. "You arrived at quite a dramatic time; we spent the whole night thinking that Seras was lost, or kidnapped, or worse, but just found she was in the closet the whole time. I don't know how she got out this morning, if she invited you over or if you let her out or. . ." when Walter didn't respond, she cleared her throat and extended her hand. "Hello, I'm Seras' mother."

"I can see that," Walter said without emotion. He didn't move to shake her hand.

Instead he took out a cigarette, lit it slowly, and inhaled deeply. There wasn't any particular reason why he did this; he just felt like having a smoke, so he went and had one. If she wanted to stop him, to tell him he was too young, well, let her. To her look of surprise, he glanced at her nonchalantly, as though daring her to tell him to stop.

"I see," the woman pulled her hand away, then smiled briskly. "Seras, why don't you invite Walter to stay for tea?"

"What? No way!" Seras cried, "I don't want him here!"

"Let me rephrase that," her mother said sternly, and a few moments later Seras asked grudgingly if he would like to stay.

"Can't, my master needs me back home, but thanks for the offer," Walter said with a false grin.

"See?" Seras snapped, and threw her hand in Walter's direction.

"Your master?" her mother said, dubiously, "You mean you're working at your age?"

"Yes, well," Walter took a drag of his cigarette, "It helps pay the bills."

"Liar," Seras snapped, "I know you live there."

"Helps pay for the room and board then," Walter said, glaring at Seras. "Is that good enough for you?"

"Making you pay to stay at your own house?" Seras mother asked angrily, "I think I should like to meet this boss of yours."

"Look, it's all right," Walter said easily, the lie rolling off his tongue. "My boss and I have an agreement; I like the work anyway, so we both benefit from the arrangement."

"Liar," Seras hissed, and stuck her tongue at him.

"Well, I should still like to see this boss of yours anyway," Seras' mother said, grabbing her purse, "And give him a piece of my mind."

"You'll be giving more than a piece of that if you meet him," Walter smirked from under his breath.

Apparently Seras was thinking the same thing. "Don't go over there mummy, he's a real big pervert."

"A pervert?" her mother asked, horrified.

"Shut up Seras," Walter hissed under his breath.

"Yeah! He was flirting with the maids when I was there."

"Is that so?" Seras' mother snapped. "I think I'm starting to like your master less and less."

"You don't know the half of it," Walter muttered under his breath.

"That's right mummy," Seras cried, pulling her mother's arm, "Don't go over there, or he'll put the _moves_ on you!"

Well, that seemed to be a whole different matter, for she had been imagining children before that statement.

"Well, I don't know where you've been hearing vocabuly like _that_," Seras' mother said, a little sternly to hide her relief, "But if Walter would like to go home, I'm obliged to take him."

Walter looked a little shocked. "That won't be necessary," he said hastily, "I can walk."

"No, I insist," Seras' mother said, "You're a guest in this house, and it is my duty to see to it that you get home safely."

"That's right," Seras said gloatingly, "It's her duty to see to it that you get home safely."

"Don't make me gut you," Walter said, but he had good reason to refuse her offer.

"Of course, if you don't want to leave right away, you could always stay for tea."

"No he can't," Seras said sternly. "I don't want him here!"

"That's too bad," her mother said slyly, "Because then we cannot take out the guest china."

"Guest china?" Seras' eyes widened, "That settles it! You're staying!"

"What?" Walter cried, and you could swear you saw skulls all around him, "'That settles it?' Don't I have any say in this?"

"Of course," Seras' mother said, "If you don't want to stay, then I can drive you home. Which will it be, Walter?"

Walter thought about snidely telling her "London," but he half-expected her to give him a blank look and tell him that London had already been destroyed. That, and London was still rather far from Cheddar, and he was sure Seras' mother would demand to know when, how and why her daughter snuck away to such a large city to visit some boy she had never even met? Though that would make trouble for Seras, which would please Walter to no end, the topic might inevitably slip to Hellsing, and the long and short of it was he needed to lie low for a while; though he wasn't familiar enough with the area to give a false address.

Walter forced out a huge false grin. "On second thought, tea sounds lovely."

"Wonderful!" Seras' mother said briskly. "Seras, why don't you show Walter where the bathroom is so the two of you can wash up? I'll call your father and let him know you're all right."

"Okay!"

But the moment the two left the room, Walter stepped right back into the wardrobe, shut the door, and when he opened it Sir Hellsing and Sir Irons were looking at him dubiously.

"Did it work?"

"The mission was a success," Walter said, without emotion. "We stepped into the wardrobe, we wound up in the girl's home, her mom couldn't stop gushing over her, they cried, they kissed, they cuddled, the end."

"Excellent!" Sir Hellsing cried, "Oh, this is marvelous indeed!"

"Upon my word," Sir Irons said breathlessly, "A reliable form of time travel!"

"Yeah," Walter said without enthusiasm, "Looks like you two have your work cut out for you. . ."

"Our work cut out for us? Why, no, dear boy," Sir Hellsing said with a wide grin, "We'll need to study this wardrobe harder than ever. We'll examine it, calculate it, figure out how it works and how to use it. Of course, _you'll_ need to go on to the other side and figure out the exact date, time and location of the wardrobe down to the very second, so we can calculate and coordinate exactly how the time travels. You'll need explore the area to see how England turns out after the war; did we win? (Though I'm sure we did, since ours is the finest country in the world, and the young girl was clearly English.) Exactly how did we win? You'll need to find a few history books (assuming books still exist in the future) with exact accounts and circumstances about the war so we can use it to our advantage. You'll need to travel around London, observe the locals, see how it changes, see if you can find Hellsing. Will we still exist in the future? I have no doubt that we will, since we are the finest vampire hunters in the world. . ."

"Assuming you will live that long or finally get around to producing an heir," Sir Irons interjected.

"Yes, yes, all in good time. But be that as it may, you'll need to go about making sure that Hellsing is still a secret, vampires are still kept under cover, perhaps visit the residence itself to see how everything has turned out. (No doubt they'll already be waiting for you, if time really is like a loop!) Of course you'll have to start immediately and take multiple trips. . ."

Walter was listening to all of this with a neutral expression, but when Sir Hellsing paused to take a breath, he smile brightly.

"Can't. The girl's mother invited me over for tea."

Before Sir Hellsing could object, he closed the door and opened it back in Seras' drawing room.

The mother and daughter were exactly where he left them. The mother was boiling water in the kitchen, and talking on the phone. "Yes dear, she's safe. Apparently she climbed into the wardrobe and locked herself in by mistake . . . She claims I didn't hear her, I suppose she gave up or tired herself out and fell asleep, you know how our daughter is . . . I could have sworn I checked, but it's so full of heavy coats that I suppose she must have been sleeping under one when I looked in, and. . ."

The girl in question was in the next room, washing her hands. She was just a little too short to reach the sink, and so she stood on a colourful, plastic stool to reach the water more easily, scrubbing in that disgusting way that only little kids with jam hands could do.

He observed the clothes they were wearing: the mother had on some pink dress suit, and the daughter wore a blue turtleneck with green shorts. He secretly wondered if _this_ was the fashion of the future, and was determined to make sure that no such ugly styles would ever penetrate the Hellsing Organization while he was around.

The girl came bouncing into the kitchen when she was finished, sat at the table next to her mother, and accepted the phone when it was offered to her.

"Hi daddy! . . . Yes, I'm fine. That stupid wardrobe just locked on me when I climbed in . . . I was playing hide and seek. . . Well, I tried calling for help, but no one heard me. I think mommy needs to have her hearing checked. . ."

Only Walter seemed to realize that the wardrobe in her house was fine, but the one on their side was locked from the outside because nobody ever used it. (It was just a plain piece of furniture in a spare room, after all.) Seras was transported to their time the instant she closed the door, but could not go back until she opened it in their time and closed it again; and since it was locked, that was impossible. She was kicking and screaming in that spare room all night, but it was far enough out of the way that nobody heard; it was only a coincidence that Walter needed to straighten up that room that day. If he hadn't discovered her as soon as he did, she might have died in that wardrobe.

Though he had seem much death and destruction in his short life, Walter was surprisingly chilled by that morbid thought.

He was snapped out of his revere when her mother asked him what sort of crumpets he wanted.

"Buttered. . .?" he answered hesitantly, vaguely wondering if they had anything _worth_ eating.

The woman nodded, but went over to get the phone when Seras was done talking. She came bouncing over to Walter, but he had no time for her; instead, he looked over to where the tea was stored. He was very good at preparing tea, having served it at least three times a day since he first joined Hellsing, and felt a sudden desire to show off. While her mother was busy talking, he made his way over.

"You aren't supposed to do that," Seras said snottily over his shoulder. "You're a guest here."

"All the more reason why I _should_ do this," Walter said easily, getting all the leaves out.

"You really are a snooty jerk, you know that?" Seras snapped, her face turning red with anger.

"And you really are a dumb little kitten, aren't you?" Walter said.

He glanced at her and smirked, causing her face to flush all the more.

"Now watch the master," he said.

And he began preparing the tea, using his skilled hands to blend artfully yet efficiently. Seras Victoria was visibly impressed by his movements, and soon forgot her anger as she began shamelessly gawking over his shoulder. Walter was very gratified by her rapt attention, since no one had ever been impressed with the mundane things he did, and even began to show off, in his own way. He offered her the first taste of his concoction.

She blushed, and glared furiously when he offered her a cup.

Being a sadist, he was very satisfied with this reaction as well.

"This doesn't change anything," she grumbled before accepting it.

Walter smirked. She had her pride, after all, and was determined to hold on to a grudge as long as possible.

When Seras' mother was finished talking on the phone, she came over.

"Oh Walter, you didn't have to do this," she said when she saw the tea, "You're the guest, after all."

"That's what I told him," Seras grumbled into her tea.

"You don't have to worry about it," Walter said amiably, "I wanted to."

"All right," her mother said warily, "But that doesn't mean you have to do it again, you hear?"

But she relented a little when she tasted Walter's tea.

The afternoon passed by rather smoothly after that. Seras helped her mother bake the crumpets, getting flower and dough everywhere, then she cheered when it was time to take them out of the oven. Seras was such a _stupid _creature; it was amazing that such an _ugly_ child could have such a sophisticated, educated, _devoted_ mother. She was very classy, polite, and kind to Walter, and tried to include him in all their family activities. This aggravated him to no end, but he kept it to himself, and was outwardly polite to her, though insincerely.

They settled at the table to have tea and crumpets, then proposed to watch a movie when the conversation lulled. When they learned that Walter had never seen a film, not even _Gone With the Wind_ or _The Wizard of Oz_, which were "timeless classics" and had come out shortly before World War II (Walter said he was unfamiliar with anything after that era) they were shocked and insisted on rectifying the problem at once.

Walter knew that films existed, he just worked full time and never left the mansion to go see one in theatres (he heard it was mostly just cartoons and news broadcasts from the war. He was unaware that one could see films in their own home, and was rather impressed with the television, which was like the radio, except it broadcasted moving pictures as well as sound.

They ended up watching _The Wizard of Oz_, a film about a sickenly sweet and impossibly clean American farm girl who whined and cried when she didn't get her way, ran away from home then came back only to have her house lifted by a tornado. Ignoring the physics-defying way the house stayed fully intact and fell to the ground without shattering, the girl emerged and found that she "wasn't in Kansas anymore." No shit, Sherlock. Considering she came from a world of black and brown and everything was now in Technicolor, it was pretty obvious she wasn't in Kansas anymore.

Still, he could see why they would like a film like this. Ignoring all of its other flaws (and there were plenty), it was about a young girl who got sucked into a new world and needed to find her way home. Walter looked over at Seras, who had her arms around her knees and was watching the movie intently, and wondered if she was smart enough to notice the similarities.

It was a rather long film, though, and halfway through Walter was itching to get up and do something; clean, spar, go vampire hunting, _something_. He wondered if all people became like this, rapt zombies staring lethargically at a coloured screen, and was determined to make sure that no television ever made it into the Hellsing manor to dull the senses of future Hellsing generations; Arthur was bad enough.

Eventually the movie ended, and Seras' mom insisted on doing the cleaning herself, so Walter went out front to stretch his legs, with Seras Victoria quickly in toe. They played cricket, and Walter won easily; the clumsy movements of a human child were almost ghoul-like for the boy who was used to hunting vampires. She got so red and flustered when she was angry.

It was such a _happy_, _normal_ afternoon; it struck a chord more deeply than any of his wires could slice.

Eventually the day wound down, and Seras' mother told Walter she could drive him home at any time. It wasn't that she was trying to get rid of him, but she did seem tired and no longer in the mood to entertain him as a guest; it was her way of kindly offering an alternative to hanging around her house, bored, with nothing to do, since she could sense his discomfort.

When her back was turned, however, Walter took the WWII book and climbed into the wardrobe.

"If she asks," he told Seras, "Just tell her I already went home."

"Of course she will. . ." Seas began, but he shut the door on her.

Sir Hellsing and Sir Irons were still in the drawing room when Walter emerged from the wardrobe. They saw him and stood, waiting breathlessly for an answer, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he slapped the World War II book and slapped it against Sir Hellsing's chest.

"Here, a complete dictionary on the Second World War," Walter said emotionlessly, "Read it, study it, memorize it; I'm going to bed."

For the first time in his life, perhaps, Sir Hellsing was flabbergasted. "But what about your mission?"

"Later," Walter said, and exited the room without looking back.

It was so out of character. Sir Irons and Sir Hellsing looked at each other dubiously.

"Did I miss something?" Sir Hellsing said.

Walter didn't sleep well that night. He walked into his empty room, kicked off his shoes, crawled into his empty bed, then stared at his empty ceiling for hours. Sleep didn't come to him, so he lay on his back, with his hands propped behind his head, and stared for hours.

Seras didn't sleep either, though for a different reason. She cuddled with her mother till her father came home in the evening, then jumped for joy when he walked through the front door and was lifted into his arms and spun around like a plane. Since he had spent the whole night and day before fearing he'd never see her again, he was even more of a loving, attentive father and husband than he ever was, and they spent the whole evening together as a family, planning their next outting and what they would do during daddy's next day off, once he was finished with this important case.

Seras reveled the way only a child secure in knowing she is loved by both her parents can be; but she still thought about the wardrobe that led into the WWII mansion, and thought about climbing in again after her parents had gone to bed. She wanted to explore, to possibly torment Walter to get even for being a jerk, and to catch a glimpse of the gorgeous Sir Irons.

While she was preparing for bed, she heard the front door open and loud voices with Cockney accents demanding to see the copper. Her father went to see who it was, and just as she peeped through the hallway door to see what was going on too, she saw one of them take out a gun and shoot him in the face.


	4. Time Travel Part 3

Warning: This particular chapter will be rated M for strong violence and sexual inuendoes; I'm sure you know the reason why.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Hellsing _or a time-travelling wardrobe (Lord do I wish I did, though)_._

* * *

Seras stared in horror and shock as a sliver of blood splattered on her face.

She scarcely dared to believe what was happening; it had to be a dream, it just had to be.

Yet, as she stared at her father, lying there motionless; he didn't get up, and she didn't wake, and the nightmare kept happening. The burglars were laughing.

"You dead? You dead?" one of them asked gleefully. "Ehee hee, hey, hey! You dead, **_copper_**?"

There were two of them. One dressed like a common chav, the other more refined like a pimp or a dandy. It didn't matter, because they were both scum, and laughing gleefully over her father's death.

"Is he dead? Is he dead?" the chav asked.

"Yep," said the would-be dandy, "He's _plenty_ dead alright."

"**_Fuckin' pig_**," said the chav, "You regret it now, **_fuckin' pig_**?"

"This is what happens to a _punk cop_ who gets in too deep. You got that?"

While the hooligans laughed, her mother pulled her away from the scene, sternly instructing her not to make a sound. Seras was hysterical; she felt like crying, screaming, clinging, curling up and running away all at once, yet she couldn't move. She could only make strangled distressed sounds in the back of her throat.

Her mom placed her into the wardrobe she got lost in the night before, and held the door, as if to close it.

"Listen to me _very carefully_, Seras," her mother said, "No matter _what_ happens, _stay in here_."

"Mum!" Seras cried, but the door shut in her face.

"Mum," she whined, leaning her head against the door, and crying pitifully, "Mum. . ."

When she opened it, she found that she was in a completely new room; clean, silent, free of blood, burglars or corpses. Her brain was moving slowly, thanks to the tragedy; it took her a moment to remember the time travelling wardrobe that brought her there.

"Help. . ." she whispered under her breath.

Her mum was in danger, her mum needed her; there was not a moment to lose. She needed to go back, to help her, to get help for her, to stay still, to wake up, to get out; to do something!

"Help," she said again, more loudly, and her panic kicked in. "HELP! SOMEBODY HELP, PLEASE!"

Her screams woke up the mansion that never slept.

Walter snapped up in his bed, and ran to see what the commotion was about at once. The soldiers gathered, Arthur emerged from his room with the girl of the week; even Sir Irons emerged form the guest bedroom. Walter met Seras out in the hallway outside the spare bedroom, where she was stumbling around, crying hysterically.

"Seras!" Walter cried, "What's wrong?"

"Please! You've got to help," Seras cried, shaking uncontrollably, "You've got to help! I can't do it—" she sobbed, "I just can't."

"Can't do what?" Walter asked sternly. "What's wrong?"

"I," Seras sobbed again. "Th-there's people in my house—they got me dad—and mum—my mum—!"

"Is it a vampire?" Sir Arthur called out earnestly, discreetly buttoning his fly.

"I dunno—it's—they—they said 'you dead pig?' I—I dunno—I just dunno!"

"I'll take care of it," Walter assured her. Every young lad has a hero in him, and the hero in Walter's chest puffed proudly at the call to duty, especially to protect a pretty young girl (the hero in Walter didn't seem to care it was a girl he didn't like). "You don't have to worry."

"Not if it isn't a vampire attack," Sir Hellsing interjected. "If it's not a vampire, then it's a civil matter. You'll have to go to the police."

This was the absolute wrong thing to say, because Seras' parents _were_ the police, and this was happening to _them_.

At that moment, Seras started as though she heard a gunshot the rest of them didn't.

"Did you hear that?" she cried, more hysterical than ever, "My mum!"

With that, she turned around and ran for the wardrobe.

"Seras!" Walter cried, trying to stop her. "Don't run! Don't—shit!"

Seras wouldn't listen. She was hysterical, desperate to save her parents at all costs. She dashed over to the wardrobe, and peeped inside. "Hello?" she called, "Daddy? Mummy!" and she climbed in and shut it behind her.

Despite his superior reflexes, Walter yanked the door open a split second too late, for she was already gone.

"Shit!" he cursed, and ran back into his room to grab his gear. A fine time to change into his pajamas on a night like this!

Sir Hellsing followed him into his room while he furiously threw on his work clothes. If it was a vampire, he would not be caught dead in his pajamas.

"Now, Walter, we don't know if this is a vampire attack," Sir Hellsing said. "The Hellsing Organization is a prestigious anti-vampire military unit set to defend England, the Protestant Church and the King against creatures that go bump in the night."

"Something went bump in the night in her house," Walter said simply, pulling on his special leather gloves.

"Yes, but we do not know if it was a creature of the night," Sir Hellsing said, "We are not some petty police force for petty criminals. If this is a civil matter, then save it for the civil police, and don't get us involved."

"I'm already involved," Walter said simply, pushing past Sir Hellsing out of the room.

"I'm ordering you to observe first," Sir Hellsing said, following Walter out of his room. "See if it is a vampire attack first. If it is, then by all means; kill the bastard. If it isn't, then cease and desist; this isn't our issue."

"Keep telling yourself that," Walter said, and pulled his wires taught, and pulled the wardrobe door open.

"Don't do anything if it isn't a vampire!" Sir Hellsing called as Walter closed the door.

He opened it to a sea of death, darkness, and silence.

It looked just like any other vampire crime scene, with blood everywhere; all over the floors, the walls, and the picture frames. There was the body of a middle-aged man slumped against the desk in the drawing room; Walter could only assume it was Seras' father. The blood splatters over the wall, coupled with his lack of external injuries and the position of the body, indicated a gunshot to the frontal lobe.

The body of Seras' mother lay sprawled out on the floor yonder, a large bullet wound visible on her forehead. Walter did a double take when he saw her blouse ripped open, her skirt hiked up and her body violated. He had seen many heinous acts against women, children—even men—but it had never been anyone he knew before. He _had_ knkown this woman; she was kind, stern, and made the best crumpets he ever tasted. It felt like a punch to the heart to see her lying there, murdered and violated thus.

He was snapped out of his revere when he heard a low groan, and noticed Seras lying face down at the base of the wardrobe.

He felt he could kick himself for not noticing before, and kneeled down beside her.

"Seras!" he cried sternly, though he knew not what to say. "Come on, Seras . . ."

He tucked a bang behind her ear, and saw that her eyes were closed. She had no external injuries, save a gaping bullet wound near her stomach, which was bleeding rapidly. Something akin to panic, or perhaps just desperation, overtook Walter. He turned her over and propped her up into his arms, patting her face to wake her.

"Seras, come on," he said sternly, propping her up so her head was leaning against his shoulder. "Come on Seras, wake up!"

She was breathing raggedly, and began to curl up closer to him unconsciously, as though to abate the pain; or hide from something awful. She began to cough, and clutched the edge of his coat with her little fingers. A single drop of blood fell down her cheek and onto the hard wood floor.

Walter felt desperate, and dragged her into the wardrobe with him.

Would he have taken her back to the Hellsing manor? We shall never know, for at that moment he heard sirens approaching the house.

Her injuries were fatal, and she needed all the help she could get; perhaps medicine was more advanced in this time.

He looked at her, at the wardrobe that was dripping with blood, and pressed her forehead against his cheek.

What would she do?

* * *

Sir Hellsing waited for many hours for Walter to return. If it was a vampire, he would have disposed of it by now, and come back to brag about his conquest. If it was a civil matter, it was not his concern, and he would have come back anyway. Surely, there was no reason for him to take so long?

Finally, Walter emerged from the wardrobe, disheveled and covered in blood.

"Well?" Sir Hellsing said expectantly.

"It was a civil matter," Walter said emotionlessly, "There was a break-in; no bite marks, blood draining or ghouls; no signs of vampire activity. The father and mother were shot in the forehead, and the girl in the stomach."

"What happened to her?" Sir Irons asked.

"The ambulance arrived promptly on the scene," Walter continued emotionlessly. "The girl was taken in to the local hospital, where they operated immediately to remove the bullet, and stitch up the damaged tissue. She woke in the middle of surgery, despite the anesthetics, and went into shock; she hemorrhaged, and expired."

There was a moment of silence.

"So, the girl died?"

"Didn't you hear what I just said?" Walter snapped. "She was shot, she bled, she died. That's what happens in civil disputes."

"Well, I know _that_," Sir Hellsing said peevishly. "But is that _really_ how it went?"

"What do you mean?" Walter said, a little defensively.

"I mean, if that's all that happened, then why did it take you _so long_ to return?"

"Because they saw me with her before I could hide," Walter said, "They insisted I come with them, to treat me for whatever injuries I had, to question me on what happened there—as though I know any fucking thing about that. I couldn't exactly disappear in a closet in front of them, so I went along with it. I had to feed them some bullshit story about how I was a friend visiting from London—even though it was a school night—and was sleeping over when the criminals broke in. I had to come up with about a million stories to cover for the ones they disproved—why I couldn't give them my number, my address, tell them where my parents were. I had to talk to the police, doctors, therapists, sketchists, wanting to know what the criminals looked like. . ."

"Did you tell them?" Sir Hellsing asked.

"No," Walter snapped, "They were already gone before I arrived."

"I see," Sir Hellsing said, "And the whole family is dead?"

"Yes," Walter snapped, "The whole family is dead."

"Good," Sir Hellsing said, "That girl was the only witness—in that time, anyway—to the Hellsing Organization. We couldn't very well let her get away."

"No, indeed," Walter agreed.

"So the only thing left to do is take care of the wardrobe," Sir Irons said.

"Yes, that's right," Sir Hellsing said, "Now that the family is gone, there remains only the wardrobe. Someone else will want to move into the house, or have the furniture sold, inevitably, and it'll only be a matter of time before someone crawls in and discovers the Hellsing Organization. What shall we do about that?"

While they were talking, Walter walked up next to the offending wardrobe, and promptly used his long legs to kick onto its side. It fell down with a loud "CRACK!" and several splinters, nails and other loose items went spilling everywhere.

Sir Irons and Sir Hellsing blanched. "What are you doing?"

Walter lifted it right-side up. "Just conducting an experiment."

He stepped into the wardrobe, shut the door (which hung crookedly now) and opened it.

Sir Hellsing and Sir Irons were staring at him.

He shut it again, and opened it; shut it, opened it.

Sir Hellsing and Sir Irons sweat-dropped.

"It doesn't work," Walter said with grim triumph, and handed Sir Hellsing a loose nail, "I guess that means there won't be any more time travel."

And with that, he went to leave the room.

"Now wait just a minute!" Sir Irons said, "What if someone enters the wardrobe from the other side, and, being unable to exit through here, ends up lost in some unknown dimension?"

"You really love disaster theories, don't you?" Walter smirked, "Since it takes two sides of the same wardrobe to travel, and this one doesn't work, I doubt the other will either."

"You don't know that for sure," Sir Irons said, "And now that the wardrobe is ruined, there's no way of finding out, is there? What if someone enters it and ends up in zero space? What then?"

Walter only smirked, "If they do, then that is a civil matter; it isn't our issue."

And with that, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked briskly out of the room.

Sir Irons and Sir Hellsing looked at each other dubiously.

"Was it something I said?"

Walter closed the door to his room and collapsed backwards on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. His earlier smirk was gone. He couldn't explain to them what he saw there, how he felt; how long he waited for Seras to exit surgery, how she looked at him when they took her away.

She looked at him like he was a stranger. Her eyes were blank; she seemed to have no memory, no spark of recognition for him anywhere. Yet there was also something like anger in her eyes, like she just met him and hated him just for being what he was.

The therapist said it possible she had repressed her memory of him, of the incident, so save herself from the trauma associated with the tragedy. It was possible she had some residual anger from the incident, especially if she had seen what had happened to her mother, as emotional memory is more persistent than cognitive. He figured it would come back to her with time.

"How much time would that be?" Walter had asked.

"That depends," the therapist said, "on how much she wants to forget. It could be a weeks, a year, even a _decade_ after the incident; or it may not come back at all. If it does, it will likely be triggered by a smell, taste, or other identifier related to the lost memory . . . or via suggestion during psychotherapy."

Walter had snorted. "Well, if that's what happens, she should fire her therapist."

Nay, Walter was determined that _he_ would not be the "identifier" of this dreadful night.

The truth was he didn't want to remember, either. He was quite tired of "civil matters" and was determined not to get involved with another one ever again. Let the idiot humans go and shoot each other, it was not his problem; it was only vampires he was supposed to kill.

Besides, Hellsing was a secret organization, meant to work from the shadows. Their job was to spring up, help people (well, kill vampires) and disappear without a trace. It was only fitting that Seras would not remember him, and he not to get involved with her afterwards.

Besides, if she _did_ remember him (and this was a huge _if_), she would be a witness to the Hellsing Organization, and he would not in good conscious be able to let her get away. Being an orphan, it would be mighty convenient to bring her here, to make her into a maid, or even train her into a fellow vampire hunter. (Sir Hellsing often said that one angry child is more powerful than a hundred soldiers.) But who would want a stupid little creature like that, anyway?

Besides, the way her parents were, he was sure she had plenty of _nice_, _loving_ grandparents or aunts and uncles that were just waiting to take her in and love her. She was a _normal_ girl, meant to live a _normal_ life; what would the Hellsing Organization want with a _normal_ girl like that, anyway?

Tired of thinking about it, Walter blew out his light and went to sleep.

* * *

Despite her abrupt entrance and exit out of their lives, the Hellsing Organization returned to normal soon after. She was only there for one afternoon, and didn't leave much an impression during her short stay anyway.

Besides which, the whole country—the whole continent—was submerged in war, what with the blitz krieg and continual air raids on London, and there was no time to think of a deceased girl or a time-traveling wardrobe that no longer worked. Sir Hellsing studied the WWII book that Walter had brought him from cover to cover, so he knew everything that had and was going to happen, and this gave him a tremendous boost in confidence.

Sir Irons left shortly too, having his own affairs to take care of, and Alucard finally returned from his mission in Ireland.

"You would think they had vampires joining this war," he said gleefully, "The Irish curs were using our trouble with Germany to try to free themselves from British rule. Since when do vampires care about human politics, anyway? It really was very pathetic."

Walter only nodded at this story. He really didn't find it as amusing as he normally would.

Nothing ever escaped Alucard's notice, though, and when Walter refused to tell him what was eating him, he found the truth on his own.

"So," he said casually a few days later, "Arthur tells me there was a girl in this mansion."

Walter nearly spit out the tea he was drinking.

Alucard laughed. "So I was correct! What sort of girl was it?"

"Asshole," Walter muttered, and pushed past him. "She's dead now, so what does it matter?"

"Oh, I don't know about that," Alucard purred, and materialized in front of him. His features were softer and his voice was more feminine. "She must have been quite a _gem_ to capture your attention."

"Don't be stupid," Walter snapped, and elbowed him away.

"Ah! I see I've hit a nerve!" Alucard cried, and his features continued to change. "What type of girl was it? What did she look like?"

"Piss off!" Walter snapped. He grabbed his cup and tray and headed for the kitchens.

"She must have been very pretty for you to be affected by her death," Alucard continued gleefully, all trace of masculinity gone from his voice and features. "What did she look like? Was she small? Delicate? Strong? Did she have long hair? Was she blonde? Red headed? Did she have black hair? What colour were her eyes? Were they blue eyes? Green? No? What about mixed? I hear that can be quite exotic."

Alucard was constantly morphing his appearance to match the physical descriptions that he mentioned. It was rather eerie, a young girl with ever-changing skin, hair and eyes; almost like that horse that kept changing colours in _The Wizard of Oz_.

"Did she look like _this_?"

Alucard presented himself (or was it herself?) before Walter as a petit young girl; slim, prim, with long black hair, pale skin, and large, wide green eyes. She was so pretty that Walter started and blushed. He was still young, and had rarely been around pretty girls before.

Taking Walter's reaction as a confirmation, Alucard roared with laughter. "I knew it! So she was a pretty little thing!" her voice dipped into a seductive purr, "Now how far did you two go?"

"Leave me alone!" Walter snapped, proof positive that he did NOT want a physical demonstration from Alucard, and spent the whole afternoon avoiding him.

"Come now Walter, you can't hide forever!"

"I said no! Now fuck off, you cretin!"

"Only if you'll join me!"

"GYAAAAH!"

Eventually, Alucard grew bored of trying to pry information that Walter wasn't going to give up, and focused on more exciting matters, like the rumours of ghouls being used in combat overseas, and the likelihood that he and Walter would be sent over to take care of them.

Walter, too, was excited over the news, and he eventually regained his smug attitude, and the two of them enjoyed the war to the fullest.

The wardrobe was all but forgotten, with the members of Hellsing unaware that the maid had swept up the missing pieces and placed them in a small burlap pouch in one of the drawers; unaware that it would be given away years later when the mansion would be refurnished to Richard's tastes when he returned from boarding school; unaware that it would eventually find its way to a second-hand furniture store in a small village, where a young officer would arrive with his young wife, thick with pregnancy, to find some inexpensive furniture to fill their new house, where they intended to start a family.

They were unaware that the officer would eventually find the pouch of missing parts, and would use one of his days off to fix the busted wardrobe with its original parts, unintentionally restoring the time-travelling magic. They, too, would be unaware that the various items they filled the wardrobe with would travel back and forth between the dimensions, including the book about the fictional radio that sent signals between two different times (which Arthur would discover by chance and read carelessly).

And, of course, they were all unaware that a young girl would climb into the wardrobe to play hide-and-seek, and be let out by a young lad forty-four years earlier, starting the cycle anew.


	5. Concrete Angel

Author's Notes: This one is rather depresssing (or cheesy if you don't like song fics) but I finished it a long time ago, and wish to post it now.

Disclaimer: I did not create the manga Hellsing or the song Concrete Angel; Kohta Hirano and Martina McBride did. Well, Concrete Angel was composed by Rob Cosby and Stephanie Bentley.

* * *

In a dirt-cheap apartment full of fist marks and broken furniture, a middle-aged woman with bleached blonde hair and day-old makeup took a deep drag of her cigarette. In the next room, a little girl with real blonde hair and no makeup put together a meager sandwich with what little she could find from the kitchen. She left the house without saying goodbye, and the woman didn't try to stop her as she ran out the door.

"_She walks to school with the lunch she packed,"_

A group of kids around her age pushed her as they ran by, laughing and calling her names as they went. She glared at them menacingly, but otherwise didn't try to react.

"_No body knows what she's holding back,"_

After a while she got fed up and chucked her lunch bags at one of the girls, hitting her square on the head.

"What the hell was that for?" the other children demanded in rapid French. "Do you want to start something? Is that it?"

Seras only glared hate, since she didn't really understand they were saying, and but she spat at them when they got too close.

"_Wearing the same dress she wore yesterday,"_

The other kids decided that that wasn't acceptable and began roughing her up to "teach her a lesson." Seras snapped and snarled and fought back as bravely as she could, until she suddenly slipped on a few leaves and skinned her knee on the sidewalk, causing the other kids to laugh, dump her lunch over her and run away. Flushed with embarrassment, she looked up, and noticed an auburn-haired boy gawking at her.

"What are you looking at?" she screamed in her native English.

He didn't say anything, and after a moment she realized he was looking at her leg. Slowly, she pulled her skirt down over her thigh.

"_She hides the bruises with the linen and lace, oh."_

Like most days, Seras was the last one into class. She was smaller and scrawnier than most of her classmates, appearing to be six instead of eight, and so most of the bullies who wanted a crack at her waited by the front entrance before school started. The first three times she tried to face them got in trouble for fighting so now she saved herself the grief by waiting until the bell rang and everyone was forced to go in before her.

"Mademoiselle Victorie, you're late again," the teacher said, unceremoniously, when she burst into class.

After assigning a detention, the teacher told her to have a seat. Seras walked slowly down the isle to her desk. She ignored the half-stares she got form the other students, but someone tripped Seras as she walked by, causing her to fall, and the other students laughed. Angry and humiliated, she raised a fist to hit him, revealing the finger-mark bruises on her underarm.

"_The teacher wonders but she doesn't ask,"_

"Seras, that's enough!" she said sharply, "Sit down."

Seras did as she was told, but no sooner did her fanny touch the seat did she feel a spitball pelt the back of her head. Enraged, she turned to see who shot it, only to be told by the teacher to pay attention. And so Seras opened her notebooks and pretended to follow along, although she wasn't good with French grammar, being from England, and endured the occasional spitball and paper airplane thrown at the back of her head when the teacher wasn't looking.

Whenever the teacher called on her, which was seldom, she would glare icily and feign ignorance.

"_It's hard to see the pain behind the mask,"_

The teacher held Seras back after school and told her that she had an attitude problem, but Seras was just as short with her there as in the classroom. The teacher looked her over for a moment, taking in her dirty face, her unbrushed hair, and her unwashed clothes. She could hardly believe that any self-respecting mother would let her child out of the house like that.

"_Bearing the burden of a secret storm,"_

After detention, Seras went to the park to kill time. She didn't want to go home just yet, and though she knew that she would have to eventually, she childishly wanted to put it off for as long as she could; preferably till her mother was asleep. She tried to ignore the other kids running and playing happily together, since she knew she would never be a part of that happiness. She was just too weird and different, and most of these children had rejected her in one way or another in the past.

Seras watched one girl run over to her mother, who hugged her in greeting and held her hand as they walked home together.

Seras turned her head away as if she'd been slapped, and willed herself not to cry.

"_Some times she wishes she was never born."_

Suddenly she noticed a boy coming to sit beside her on the bench. He was much taller than her, with deep red hair, dark tanned skin, and brilliant green eyes. He seemed to be at least a few years older than her, which was probably why she'd never seen him at school before. He was very handsome, yet he looked away and smiled sheepishly when she tried to meet his eye (as if _he_ had any reason to be shy)!

"_Through the wind, and the rain,_

___She stands hard as a stone,_"

"Parlez-vous français?" he asked, meekly.

So he knew it too. "Oui, " she said. "Un peu."

"A-ah," he said. "Quel est votre nom?"

". . . Seras Victorie," she said finally, after a long pause. "Le vôtre?"

"_Ah! Le c'est Bernadette de Pépin_." His cheeks flushed a deep red.

Seras smiled. Always so showy, these French people. "Are you alone?"

"Y-yes!" he said, smiling brightly. "I mean," his eyes widened, and he rushed to correct himself. "Non, I have you with me."

"_In a world that she can't rise above,"_

Seras smiled again, and found that she liked this boy very much. He was so handsome, which pleased her good and well, but he was also very kind and honest. She talked with him long into the afternoon, even when it got dark and all the other kids went home, and she still did not tire of his company as she did with other people. He stumbled over his English and was very patient with her broken French, and was just so cute and nice; she felt she could talk with this boy forever.

"_But her dreams give her wings,"_

Seras found herself talking to this boy every day. He was four years older than her, but that hardly mattered to Seras. He was a very kind boy, and he followed her faithfully wherever she went. She sometimes wondered if he had any other friends, but he would only blush and cast his eyes away shamefully when she asked. She eventually found out that all the other kids hated him too, because of his family. Apparently, Pip was from a family of mercenaries.

"Come on Seras, forget him," they said. "Do you really want to be friends with the son of a _murderer_?"

"Well, it's better than being friends with the son of a _whore_!" Seras snapped, "You two-penny creep!"

After the resulting six-against-two fight, Pip and Seras nursed their wounds over shaved ice in the park.

"_And she flies to a place where she's loved."_

They spent most of their time together in the playground or the park, where they talked, ate and played until the school bell rang or the street lights told them it was time to leave. This was more than enough for Seras, but Pip always seemed to want more.

"You know Seras, I've been thinking," he said one afternoon over crepes in the park, "We ought to go to Paris some time, just me and you. . . We could take the train, go walking around, climb the Eiffel Tower. . . Just you and me. . . no grown-ups, no bullies. . ."

"Wouldn't it be dangerous to go by ourselves?" Seras asked, finishing her crepe and licking the paper cone. "I mean, we're just kids; won't we get kidnapped?"

Pip hadn't thought of that. "Don't you worry," he after a pause, puffing out his chest proudly. "I'm from a family of mercenaries; I'll be able to protect you."

Seras giggled.

"Besides," he looked visibly deflated. "I want to make it up to you. I feel bad because you'll always being bullied because of me."

"It's okay," Seras said. "I was bullied before I met you, and I'd rather have you than be alone."

Pip flushed, and made an excuse to buy her another crepe so he could hide his face, but Seras watched his antics and smiled knowingly.

"_Concrete Angel"_

One night, Pip and Seras were talking over the phone. "You're right," Seras said, looking out the window. "The stars are beautiful tonight."

"Yeah," Pip said, "So, you understand the homework?"

"I think so," she answered, "I just need to write about Napoleon from the French point of view, right? Not the English?"

"That's right," Pip said, "Remember; he was a king and a savior."

"Not a tyrant or a villain," Seras laughed. "I got it. It's very weird how different history is between the French and English textbooks."

"I suppose so. . ." There was an awkward pause from Pip's end. "Would you. . ." he began, "Would it be okay if I walked with you to school tomorrow?"

Seras' heart froze. "Why?"

"W-well," Pip was glad Seras couldn't see his face. "I've walked you home a few times, and we looked out for each other then. But you seem to have trouble coming to school, so I thought it would be nice to . . . uh. . ."

Seras was touched by Pip's thoughtfulness, and the smile slowly returned to her face.

"My mom is a little cranky in the mornings," she said, hoping the excuse would pass. "But you can pick me up from the corner down the street; that'll be okay."

Pip's face broke into a huge grin. "All right, I'll see you tomorrow, Seras."

"I can't wait," she answered.

Suddenly the door to her room slammed open, and Seras snapped her head around and slammed the phone on the receiver. The next thing she knew, she was being grabbed by the shoulders while her mom screamed into her face over something she did wrong. Seras was so scared she began to cry, and her mom suddenly shoved her so hard she banged against the dresser.

"_Somebody cries in the middle of the night,"_

Seras curled into a ball and clutched the back of her head, which now had a squishy soft spot on it. Her mom was still yelling and shaking her for some offense that she didn't realize she committed, accusing her of trying to get her arrested, of ruining her life, of being a leech and a parasite she's had to deal with all these years, and threw her against the corner. Dazed and disoriented, Seras screamed when she suddenly noticed a fist flying toward her face.

"_The neighbors hear but they turn out the lights,"_

Seras could only curl into a ball and cry as her mother continued to pound her over and over. She held her tiny arms to protect herself from the blows, but they only got more bruised and broken with each strike. She could only pray that she would eventually get tired out or lose interest. But the more her mother hit her, the more violent she became, and she just kept beating her harder and harder.

"You've been nothing but trouble since day one!" was all Seras heard her say, "I wish you'd died along with your parents in that accident!"

These were the last words Seras ever heard spoken.

"_A fragile soul caught in the hands of fate,"_

Pip had a bad feeling as he walked down Seras' street the next morning. He was sure everything must be all right, since Seras probably had a good reason to hang up on him. Yet, Pip could not shake the horrible feeling deep in his stomach. As he turned to the corner to where they were supposed to meet, he saw several ambulances and police cars in front of the apartment complex where she lived.

"_When morning comes it'll be too late."_

Pip's heart sank, his stomach knotted and his legs turned to lead as he ran over to the scene of the accident. He hoped against hope that everything was all right, but the knot in his gut tightened. He ran to the authorities and begged to know what had happened, but the police only demanded gruffly that he stay behind the yellow caution tape.

"What happened?" Pip demanded, "What happened? What's going on? My friend lives in that place!"

"Kid, you need to stay back," the paramedic said, and walked briskly past him into the apartment.

Suddenly Pip noticed the window on the bottom story was shattered from the inside, with blood-splattered glass all over the pavement. And among the blood, there lay—

"An arm," Pip gasped, falling to his knees, and feeling so sick inside that he had to clutch his stomach. "Seras lost her arm."

"Got shoved through the window," a paramedic explained. "Her body exploded on impact. She died instantly."

"_Through the wind, and the rain,"_

Out of the front door, the paramedics carefully rolled out a stretcher with a zipped up body bag on it. They were mindful of the steps, yet it still jolted as they adjusted to the new ground level, and they proceeded to carry it to the waiting ambulance. Pip followed them behind the line, desperately, hoping against hope that it wasn't who he thought it was, but one look at the paramedic's eye told him it was hopeless.

"_She lays hard as a stone,"_

On the other side of the tape, a faux blonde whom Pip could only assume was Seras's mother was arguing bitterly with the police. There were two male officers trying to convince her of something, perhaps the evil thing she had just done, but she was adamant in believing that she was innocent. As Pip slowly walked closer, feeling numb as though he were in a dream, he heard her telling them of what an evil, manipulative, troublesome little brat that thing was, and how it deserved what it got.

"_In a world that she can't rise above."_

"I don't see what everyone's getting so upset about," the woman yelled, "When _I'm_ the one who has to pay for a new window!"

Pip stood dumb struck. Pay for a new window? His legs buckled, and he fell to his knees, feeling ill. He would never find a new Seras.

"_But her dreams give her wings,"_

The paramedic asked him if he knew the deceased. Pip answered tearfully that he did, and then the police demanded that he answer a few questions. The paramedic chastised them, but it no longer mattered to Pip. He answered them as best as he could since it didn't really matter anymore. His only friend, his only real reason for living, was gone.

"_And she flies to a place where she's loved,"_

When it was all over, Pip was given all of Seras' personal belongings, which were considered useless to everyone else. To him, they were priceless treasures and mementos that he would cherish for the rest of his life. He sorted through all her things to try to understand her, since she was so secretive in life. He also got her school workbooks, which were quite standard, except that she had more doodles than homework in them.

Her notebooks were scrawled with half-hearted French-lesson notes, English words that he needed a French-English dictionary to translate; more doodles, and his name scrawled out in random places; some hastily erased, some crossed out, and some made fancy with swirling lines and little heart dots.

What made Pip break down, however, was the art assignment labeled, "The Most Important Person in My Life." It was the picture of a stick-figure boy with red hair and green eyes holding hands with a stick-figure girl with yellow hair and blue eyes. They each had a halo and a pair of wings, and they were each flying to Heaven with a smiling sun over their heads and happy clouds all around them.

"_Concrete Angel"_

Since Seras's mother was in custody, the community took it upon themselves to say a few prayers for her in church, and wish her a safe passage into the afterlife. Nobody knew Seras personally, however, and so the priest took the martyre approach and blessed Seras on the grounds that she was an innocent little lamb who was butchered by the very shepard who was supposed to protect her. Everyone was focusing on the priest's sweet words, but after the service Pip found himself staring at the Virgin Mary, and wondered how she could have allowed one of her children to be murdered so cruelly. She only stared silently back.

_"A statue stands in a shaded place"_

The burial took place on a cool autumn afternoon, with weeping willow shadows draping over the graves like shrowded mourners, and red leaves falling from the trees like bloody tears. Only a hand-full of teachers came to Seras' funeral; very few people knew Seras in life, and even fewer thought of her enough to visit her in death. The school raised funds for her grave, which was located under a great oak tree, with a little statue on her tomb stone to symbolize her inner strength.

_"An angel girl with an upturned face"_

Only Pip cried when the priest started giving his sermon after she was buried, and only Pip brought flowers to put on her grave. They were pretty lotuss that he knew she would like, since he'd seen her admiring them at the in front of a flower shop before school one day. Her grave stone was small, consisting of a tiny cherub statue the size of a bunny.

_"A name is written on a polished rock,"_

Pip was the only one who took a few days off school to mourn her passing. His grandparents were surprisingly sympathetic to his grief, and left him to his peace until he was ready to go back to school. When Pip did return to school, however, he was horrified to find that life had gone on as usual for many students. No one seemed to notice or care that Seras was missing. Many of the students who had bullied her in life no longer thought of her now that she was dead.

_"A broken heart that the world forgot."_

Sorrow, grief, and guilt saturated Pip like poison in an apple. If only he had done this, if only he had noticed that, he kept telling himself, Seras would still be alive. Why couldn't he protect her? Why hadn't he noticed the signs while he could still do something about it? Why hadn't she told him she was being beaten? Didn't she trust him at all? Did she think he wouldn't help her? Did she try to tell him subtly and he just mis-understood the cues? If he'd acted on his gut, would she still be alive?

Pip lay agonizing over this in bed one stormy night. His bedroom window suddenly flew open. A sudden gush of cold air and rainwater blew the curtains inward, and he was just about to close the window when he noticed the figure of a young girl standing at the window's edge. She had short blonde hair and deep blue eyes, and she kept a steady gaze even as the elements fell over her soaked face.

_"Through the wind, and the rain,"_

Pip rose slowly, scarcely daring to believe it. Part of him feared this was a dream, or an illusion. Another part had been in denial since the morning she died, and felt vindicated to see her. Another was just so happy to see his friend again that he didn't care, as long as it was her.

He got up and ran to her, hardly knowing what to say. "S-Seras. . .! Z-zere you are! I . . . I zought you were dead!"

"No one could have survived a crash like that," Seras said sadly, "but I couldn't go on without saying goodbye."

_"She stands hard as a stone,"_

Pip could feel himself tearing up again, much to his chagrin, but he couldn't help himself, and he broke down crying.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he sobbed.

"I don't know," she said, saddly, "I guess . . . I was afraid."

"Afraid? Of what?" Pip sobbed. "I could have helped you!"

"I didn't know," Seras said, for the first time looking unsure. "I guess. . . I just didn't know."

"But you died," he sobbed, and tried to cover his face with his hands. "You died, and I thought . . . it was my fault. . ."

"It wasn't your fault," Seras said, and she seemed sure of herself again. "You didn't know; there was nothing you could have done."

"But I promised!" Pip sobbed, "I promised to protect you, and I couldn't do zat. . . !"

"It was't your fault," Seras said firmly, "I never told you because nobody ever helped me. The teacher suspected but she didn't ask. The neighbors heard but they turned off the lights. The police knew but they chose to send me home." To Pip's look of horror, she elaborated, "I went down to the station last week, but they called me a liar and said I was just telling stories to get attention, and they called my mom after I left. I didn't know until it was too late; even if there was nothing you could have done."

_"In a world that she can't rise above."_

Seras helped Pip back into bed, and continued to caress his arm as he asked her all the things he wished he'd asked her while she was alive, while she put his conscience at ease. There was a calm, worldly maturity about her now that she never posessed in life, and Pip was sure she was now an angel. After a time, he noticed that her left arm seemed to be a dark, shapeless mass that looked to him to be a kind of wing. The fact that it was slightly red and writhing didn't bother him at all, since Seras could do no wrong in his eyes.

_"But her dreams give her wings,"_

"Why did you come back?" Pip asked at last, when he was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open.

"I wanted to make sure you were all right," Seras said, "Before I moved on."

Pip yawned, "You mean to 'eaven?"

". . . I wish," Seras said, and Pip didn't see her tears. "I just wish I could be with you forever."

"You will," Pip murmured, just before sleep finally claimed him, "When I go to Heaven, we'll be together again."

Seras was so heart-broken that she wept openly, ran toward the window and threw herself into the storm.

_"And she flies to a place where she's loved," _

Eventually, Seras came across her Death, who stared at her from behind bright yellow shades. She had still not worked out whether he was her savior or tyrant and a villain, but when he offered his arm expectactly, she allowed him to lift her onto his shoulder obediantly. A large part of Seras still wished she had brought Pip with her, but she couldn't do that to him, she just couldn't. Her Death was very cruel, and would bully Pip mercilessly if she brought him with. Pip would grow to hate Seras for dooming him to a life of servitude; for separating him from his grandparents; from keeping him from going to Heaven, and Seras just couldn't stand the thought of Pip hating her; she just couldn't.

She vowed silently to see him again one day, and shadows surrounded them as her Death took her to her new home.

_"Concrete Angel"_


End file.
